


we’ll take on midnight, you and I

by sugarglassss



Series: oh dear angel [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming of Age, Daddy Issues, Family Issues, Genderqueer Character, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Male Friendship, Nonbinary Marquis de Lafayette, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarglassss/pseuds/sugarglassss
Summary: “What’swrongwith being a queer?” John tries to sound confident, defiant, but his tone comes out frail. Hefeelsfrail. “I mean, a lot of people are like— likethat,and well, I mean—” He’s talking way to much, shut up,shut up!“They’re not hurting no one, right? They’re just...” John does shut up now, realizing the mistake he’s made.(Or; It’s been six months, John keeps breathing.)
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, John Laurens & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette
Series: oh dear angel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027599
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	we’ll take on midnight, you and I

**Author's Note:**

> This is setup In 2009; New York, Manhattan.
> 
> Read my previous fanfic “the (never) ending boy” to truly enjoy the story! (please do!)
> 
> Thank you!!!

_John stood inside the room. He felt the edge of his vision go blurry, but it must be because he just woke up. Still, he couldn’t help the cold shiver that traveled through his body; his stomach dreadfully sick, his skin was drenched with sweat, and as much as he wanted to run from the suffocating room, his feet were stuck on the unfamiliar carpet. The floor seemed to rock._

_A hand shot out of his bed, grabbing his ankle._

_He screeched. The hand was unbearably hot against him, it’s knobby fingers digging into his skin. With his other leg he stomped the peeking forearm, he kicked it until the hand reluctantly led go, returning under the bed. John stood shocked, looking for the thing to come back. When it didn’t, he ran. He got out of the unfamiliar room —how could it be unfamiliar, it’s your home!— and ran down the hall, his breaths heavy, yet, he didn’t feel fatigued. He went down the stairs, but at the distance, he could hear the tell-tale sound of footsteps._

_Tap, Tap, Tap._

_He kept going, but the fucking stairs didn’t seem to end!_

_Tap, Tap…_

_John was terrified. He was falling down._

_…_

_Taptaptaptaptaptaptapta—_

He wakes up.

The sky hasn’t even lighten up yet, darkness surrounding the room. John lays in bed, his eyes awake but his body still soft from sleeping. He looks up at the ceiling, the white of it staring back at him. He turn to his tabletop, the alarm clock shining bright blue letters. _07:24 AM. Fuck._

John groans. The bed felt hot, but he didn’t even have the desire to pull off his sweaty shirt, too put off by the strange dream. He wished he was better at forgetting them. I guess I just got mad good memory. He inwardly laughs at that, yeah right, he couldn’t even remember his school teacher’s name, good memory his _ass_.

He lays put for a good while, until his phone alarm starts ringing. ‘ _September’ by Earth, Wind & Fire_ fills the room. This time he laughs out loud, which is good for him, Laf would be proud. They’ve been trying to make him smile, laugh more; hence the peppy ringtone. He thought the silly attitude of them would eventually stop, but even after five months — _Since ‘that night’_ — they’re still going hard at it. He wonders what he did to deserve such a good friend. He’s lucky.

He allowed himself to rest on the bed, the ringtone still going. When the song stopped, the sun was beginning to rise up, a dim blue painting the sky. He thought of his momma, common on his day-to-day life. When he thought of her it wasn’t really for sad reasons, as it was before, now it was like thinking of a distanced friend. Very dear to you, but not something immediate in your life. Not someone you longed for. It was weird to think of his momma in that way, still, that’s the way it is.

He closes his eyes, the morning oddly quiet.

He likes that.

Until a knock disrupted it. Oh, well.

He groans, yet again. “Coming,” John says loud enough for Laura to hear. Her quick footsteps fade into the distance, John peeks with one eye at the clock. _07:45 AM. Shoot_. He dresses himself swiftly; a semi-dirty school button-up shirt and his navy pants, he couldn’t find his damn tie though. Thanks God it was summer, the stuffy blazer they had to wear in winter was a pain. He washes his face and pops two mints in his mouth, no time for mouth hygiene. He tries, emphasis on _tries_ , to level down his hair. Even now that it was shorter, his curls still stuck up in unusual ways. He misses his long hair, but the school didn’t approve of hair below the shoulders, especially if it wasn’t brushed. Dad doesn’t like it very long either, says it makes him look like a woman, but fuck him, who gives a damn. _I wonder when’s the last time I showered_. Little Mary passed by and a quick grimace on her face answered that question. He sprays some cologne, gifted by his dad, the piny scent making him wince. He doesn’t like strong smells, it was too similar to a just bought inside of a car, or smelly soap.

He puts on his shoes and goes down to the first floor, the apartment too bright for the early hours. Who the hell designed a building with these many windows? Junior and Martha liked them however, they enjoyed feeling the cool glass against their skin in hot days. They would prefer to lay on the kitchen floor, _but_ , Laura didn’t like them _laying down like dogs._ God, why was he such in a grumpy mood? Come on, snap.

The dining room paints a homely scene before him; a warm yellow tablecloth, fine chinaware with fluffy pancakes on it, dad with _‘New York Times’_ and Laura washing the dishes. The kids are quietly eating their breakfast, but he could definitely see the little shits playing footsie under the table. He flicks James’ in the back as he passes, the kid has terrible posture. It earns him a raspberry.

“Honey, don’t be rude,” Laura reprimands without turning around. “Is that you, Jack? Good morning dearie, want some pancakes?” She smiles a little too wide. “Gotta get strong for those basketball matches, ain’t that right?”

Well, this was awkward. “I didn’t enroll this year,” John could see her eyes widen, realizing her mistake. “It’s cool though, I can still dig pancakes.” He goes to the cabinet for a plate, _at least she tried._

“You’re too short.” His dad says aloud, his gaze still stuck to the morning post.

John’s caught off guard. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s _‘excuse me’,_ saying _‘what’_ is vulgar,” Henry turns the next page. “Basketball is for people with height, this family is not blessed with that trait, unfortunately, thus the reason you weren’t fit for the sport,” He takes a sip from his coffee, _I only drink black_ , fucking prude. “You should’ve stayed in baseball, you were a good hitter.” John tenses—

_‘Wait, you like this shit? You’re fucking with me.’_

—“It wasn’t my thing.” Deep breaths, deep breaths are the key.

“That’s recurrent.” Henry says flatly, the page turns. John wants to punch something, a face would be _fantastic_.

Laura notices the tense atmosphere, she gets nervy. “Oh! But didn’t your friend get a football scholarship? What was his name, Lance?”

Now this angered him. “It’s _Lafayette_. And they’re not a him.” God, why did he wake _up_ today.

“Repeat again, dearie?” John was starting to get red on the face, he really didn’t want to have this conversation.

He frets, trying to find the correct words. “Lafayette doesn’t— _isn’t_ either a boy, or a girl,” John looks down to the floor, somewhat embarrassed, which he shouldn’t be, who Lafayette is isn’t something to be ashamed of. “They don’t go by he or him, they like to be addressed as, uh—, they, or their name, of course.” _Lafayette would do the same for you, don’t let them down._

“That’s absurd,” Henry snaps, his voice raised a tad bit. “You can’t be neither a man or a woman, it’s basic biology, son.” He finally looks up from his paper; the eye contact makes it worse, he now realizes. “It’s already been long enough, Jack, you shouldn’t associate with him anymore,” He smacks his lips, as if spitting a foul taste. “That boy’s probably a _queer_.”

“What’s _wrong_ with being a queer?” John tries to sound confident, defiant, but his tone comes out frail. He _feels_ frail. “I mean, a lot of people are like— like _that_ , and well, I mean—” He’s talking way to much, shut up, _shut up!_ “They’re not hurting no one, right? They’re just...” John does shut up now, realizing the mistake he’s made. The kitchen is quiet, he can’t even hear his siblings messing around anymore.

The quiet sits. John can hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears, his face feels so goddamn hot. His insides turn cold and his throat is closing up, a bundle of _fuckfuckfuckfuck—_ threatening to spill out. He can’t bear with the pressure, it’s as if time stopped yet the world is spinning rapidly, both at the same time. Is too much, he has to, _needs_ to get out.

So he does.

He leaves the room without a word. He briskly walks out of the apartment, grabs his backpack, almost tripping as he leaves the door. He walks through the streets, people surround him, the close contact of strangers somehow calms him a little, the nervous heat in him chills. He sits at a stoop on the street, his body worn out from what just happened. He presses down into the cool railing next to him, and he stays like that for a while, clearing his mind.

No one notices him, for once.

John melts down on the stoop for a few minutes, then he gets up. While he could pretend to be a bum wandering around for the rest of the day, he has to get to school. He’d usually ditch, spend his time better at Central Park, buy an ice cream, as he lays on the fresh cut grass and watches people go by. But, always a _but_ , he needs all the points he can get from Physics class. In the previous semester his grades had been utter horse-crap, due to his total loss of motivation and the wanting-to-cease-to-exist stuff, so now he had to do for lost time. His teachers were understanding, oddly enough. In a school full of upper-class, obnoxious high school boys, you took what you could get. Also, he has Laf, who was the smartest person he knew, so he’d be alright.

John walks through 64th street, his school a fifteen minute walk away. Students would normally arrive by car, but John didn’t feel confident enough on his driving skills after almost crashing his new bought _Ford_ — _Courtesy of dad—_ when he practiced with Laf. He preferred to walk, anyway, the daily scenery of the city made him feel lighter. The vibrant trees potted through the sidewalk, the bricked apartments that lined the street, incredibly high. He finds himself bittersweet with the city, the place he has known since little, his entire world. He wonders if he’ll stay here when he finishes school, never brave enough to leave the well-known neighborhoods he’s always walked by.

He feels as if he’s never noticed any of these details before.

John reaches the entrance of the school, an arrange of students going through the main gate. He spots a familiar bun in the crowd, John grins as he sees the wild wave he’s greeted with.

“John! John!” Lafayette says loudly, even through John was only a few meters away. He waves back so they’d stop yelling.

He has known Lafayette since elementary school, but they didn’t become friends until mid 9th grade. The friendship had a rough start, since it kicked off with a punch to his face, _don’t ask_ , but after that they’ve always been together. Laf was like a book character, someone you only heard from angsty novels, making you doubt the credibility of the dramatic backstory. _A foreign orphan, parents died of an incurable illness, they travelled to the west so they could live with their withdrawn grand-aunt, a fierce woman who spoke mostly in rapid french. Now they had to live in a total unfamiliar world, leaving them as a troubled teen with uncertain future._ Which didn’t happen, because we’re talking about Lafayette here. They’re a wildcard, with an easygoing confidence and natural talent for academics, as well as public speaking. They had this radiance around them, as if the world stopped for a minute to awe at them. Lafayette was pretty cool.

“Hey,” John says, looking up to his friend. “What color is it today?”

Lafayette smiles attractively, the scar next to their mouth prominent. They proceed to reach down to their loafers, no socks, as always, and their painted toe-nails shine a metallic gold. “I was feeling expensive.”They say cheekily, smiling.

John laughs at that. “Looks great, Laf,” They walk together to the entrance, not rushing since they had Spanish for first period, no one really cares about Spanish. “I still don’t get why you refuse to wear socks though, it’ll get you hella blisters.”

“That’s the thing, my friend,” Lafayette responds with grandeur, walking swiftly through the halls. “You _americans_ are too soft, which isn’t news, of course.”

“Shut up, I can see the bandages on your heel.” This earned him a kick to his ass. Damn Lafayette and their long legs. He attacked back with a jab to their ribs, laughter leaving both of them. “Also, you’re american too, technically.”

“ _Please_ do not insult me like that, _ma moitié_.”

They walk together to class, he feels alright.

* * *

Classes pass, everything’s smooth. It’s June; after exam week, as well as cramming up all the projects and extra points, school’s calmed down. They’re the last weeks of 11th grade, at least for the people who actually passed, which John can proudly say he has. It was rough, especially the second semester with U.S. History and Physics. He wasn’t bad in the math part — _Straight A’s in Algebra baby_ —, but if he has to name one more treaty or compact he will start to loose hair.

“ _Ughhh.._.” John grunts in defeat, his head stuck into his doodled-on book next to an almost blank paper.

“Come on, it’s just an essay on systems, stop being a _drama queen_ ,” Lafayette says breezily, playing with John’s short curls. “You know what, I miss your old hair, it made you look cute for once.”

John looks up gruffly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“ _Aaah, Je ne parle pas l’anglais_.” Lafayette responds with a cheery smile.

“Har, har,” John says sarcastically, and looks out to the window. “I’m just— annoyed,” He fiddles with his pencil, wanting to flip it to the teacher in pure spite. “I know these people fought and built our country, they’re important historic figures and should be honored to, but I just _don’t care_.”

“We’re _not_ ditching out.”

John looks at them woefully. “We could.”

“You told me to keep you here until you finished the things, and to quote ‘ _if I want to ditch, kick my ass or something’,_ ” Lafayette says, stubborn as ever.

“Yeah, and past me is a moron, what’s new.” John responds, ready to flip the pencil to—

“John?”

John looks to the sound of his name, a girl is calling him from the door. “It’s your turn with the counselor.”

_Ah, shit._

John gets up reluctantly. He waves back at Laf, the other gives him sympathetic grin and thumbs up. They mouth _‘good luck’_ , John sticks his tongue out.

He goes down the pristine halls. Not many students were around, which isn’t surprising, private school and all. The teacher’s ward is on the other side of the building. When he gets there, he arrives to a rich-maroon door, a plaque on the upper-side that wrote _‘Ms. Moodera’_. He knocks two times, and steps inside when he hears the permission to come in.

The room is pale green, with replicated art pieces — _Frida Kahlo, some cubist-styled one_ — and motivational posters. _‘You never Fail until you Stop Trying’_ or _‘Be the Change you want To Be in the World’._ He almost rolls his eyes, however, Ms. Moodera’s nice, he didn’t want to seem rude. She sits behind her desk, quickly typing something in the computer. He occupies the chair in front, the only comfy one in the whole school, apparently. His hands feel sweaty.

“Good afternoon, John,” Ms. Moodera says calmly, her orange lipstick a nice contrast on her dark skin. “How are you feeling today?” She continues, fountain pen dormant on manicured nails.

“Fine.” John responds.

“Good,” She says firmly, her eyes determined in making eye-contact. “Let’s get straight to it, then. Today we’re going to discuss about your future career after attending Browning High School, not too extensively since it’s the end of the school year, however, in the next grade most students are preparing to submit their college applications already. So lets begin,” She takes out a notepad, her whole demeanor relaxed. “What would you like to do in the future, John?”

_Aaaah._

John fidgets, his gaze stuck on the flowery pencil holder in front of him. He hopee his face is lax to the outer eye, because inside he could feel his gut twisting uncomfortably. _Deep breaths._ “Law.” He responds dryly.

“Law?” She enquires.

“I guess.” John really doesn’t want to have this conversation. He pinches the tip of his fingers, trying to calm down his nerves.

Ms. Moodera stares at him, he can’t read what she’s thinking, her expression professionally neutral. “What interests you about law?” She asks.

John searches for any bullshit he can come up with. “Well, my dad’s a lawyer,” He starts, seems like a good motive. “He has a law-firm and everything, so he wants me to work in there and stuff,” Henry had always said so, it was the one thing he had to do to own up to the family name. “It makes good money,” He continues to fill up the silence. “Yeah...”

John isn’t blessed with the ability of hiding his emotions. If he’s sad, he looks miserable and cries in the bathroom. If he’s mad, he punches a wall, or a face, preferably. He doesn’t know how to lie smoothly, to mask his expression at an unexpected remark or nasty insult. So he wears his feeling by his sleeves, even if he doesn’t want to.

“Does your father want you to be a lawyer?” Ms. Moodera asks.

John’s eyes widen. “Yeah, it’s kinda of a family thing, the men studying law.” He responds awkwardly.

“Hmm...” She murmurs, writing something down, John starts to get irked.

“What?” He snaps, he doesn’t want to be here.

“Do you want be a lawyer?” She asks, her eyes firm.

“Yes, I just said so.” John respond moodily.

“What I mean if it’s _you_ want to pursuit it, something for the long run,” Ms. Moodera continues. “There’s no shame if it’s for economical reasons or because you already have an accessible path to it, still, you got to consider your satisfaction of said career choice,” She explains kindly, but John feels patronized. “There needs to be a balance between it being enjoyable and practical, not one or the other.”

“What if I don’t have that, though?” John bursts, his mood rapidly deteriorating. “I don’t have something I’m _passionate_ about, so it’s pointless.” He didn’t mean to be honest to her, however, he was feeling desperate. Because it was true; he didn’t _want_ to study law, he didn’t give two _shits_ about it. _But you have to, you don’t have a choice._

Ms. Moodera stays silent for a moment, considering her thoughts. A whisper echoes in the back of his head;

_Maybe you are hopeless._

“John, you’re seventeen,” She begins, a bit of emotion escaping her voice. “You still have your whole life ahead of you, it may feel like it’s going by a flash, but there’s time. You don’t have to choose you’re profession just as you finish high school, many other kids don’t do it,” She fiddles with her pen, thinking. “If you do make a choice, I advise you to give it a little time. Think of the things you enjoy, even if they seem insignificant to you; watching Discovery Channel documentaries or playing video-games. Build up from that enjoyment, and research about it. Be proud of your judgement, so don’t rush,” She leans against her chair with a small sigh. “You’re a good kid, John. You can always come to my office to chat, if you’re feeling troubled.” She looks at him kindly. “Do you want to continue?”

John feels like crying. A warmth surrounds him. “You’re makin’ me feel special, Ms. Moodera.”

She smiles toothily, a change from her professional demeanor. “That’s my job.”

* * *

John declines Ms. Moodera’s offer and leaves early. He goes through the day until the last bell rings. John feels exhausted, the morning a full rollercoaster of emotions. While he walks out of the classroom, he’s called back by the teacher. “John! Come here for a moment.”

John considers making a run for it, but he doesn’t have the energy for that. He goes to the teacher’s desk.

“I’m gonna take a little of your time here, no worries, right?” The teacher — _Evans, he thinks, but he’s probably wrong_ — says as he rearranges his glasses. “Here.”

John looks down at the paper on the teacher’s hand, a flyer. He takes it a bit puzzled. John waits for him to elaborate, though they stays quiet.

“What’s this?” John asks.

The teacher smiles, his dimples showing. “An old friend, _he would say acquaintances_ , is staying in New York for a while, and he’s giving art classes to take time.” The teacher responds.

John is still confused. “Do we need to go as an assignment?” He asks.

Mr.-Maybe-Evans laughs. “No, John. I’m giving it to _you_ , if you’re interested, of course. See, Thomas is a very picky man and will only teach people who already come with something,” he continues. “I think you got a chance.”

John goes a little red, the praise getting to him. He doesn’t know what to say, so he nods and leaves the classroom with a murmur of a _‘thank you’._ He walks down the halls, opens his locker and leaves his stuff, still thinking about the flyer buried deep-down in his pockets. He isn’t left with much time to ponder when Lafayette shows up next to him.

“John! I waited forever!” Lafayette says, their forehead sweaty and mood happy. Probably came from playing football. “Did Mr. Emel want something?”

“Yeah, he gave me a flyer.” John answers. They walk in tandem, Lafayette’s dirty sneakers a contrast with John’s shiny loafers. “It’s about an art class.”

Lafayette smiles brightly. “That’s very good! You are a great artist, you should go.” They say with complete confidence.

John looks at them dubiously, however he doesn’t respond. Suddenly, he remembers what day it is. “Is today Friday?”

“ _Oui!_ Do not tell me you forgot” Lafayette inquires while grabbing their bike, a pretty celeste. Unlike this bike, his was rusty and too big. He dismisses the thought.

“Yeah.” John responds plainly, Lafayette gasps.

“That’s very mean, John,” Lafayette fake pouts, walking faster with their bike. “No more snacks for you, you _rude_!”

“That’s not even an insult!” John laughs as he catches up to them. “Also, your bars suck!”

They mess around while they walk straight through Madison Avenue. The sun is harsh, department stores surround them and they arrive before they know it. The building is small compared to other apartments complexes, the white bricks give it a sophisticated look compared to the usual rugged red. Plants hang from one window, an old ceramic frog next to them. They go up the stairs until they arrive at Lafayette’s door, _‘342A’_ shining in silver letters. Lafayette takes out their keys, — _The_ _keychain a huge yellow pompom that John got for them_ —, and opens it swiftly.

The best way to describe Lafayette home is as that, a _home_. It’s warm and quaint, with lots of framed pictures and knick-knacks scattered around. Lafayette’s grand-auntie is sitting on the armchair next to the window, the back of the ceramic frog on the windowsill, her gaze is firmly stuck on the box TV in front of her, probably watching her weird crime show. Lafayette tells her something in French and she waves them off, the wrinkles on her hand prominent. It’s the universal sign of _‘fuck off’._

John falls down into Lafayette’s bed after they enter the room. He feels exhausted, groggy and only wants to do nothing all day. Lafayette throws him an energy bar, caramel apple flavored. He groans in response.

“Wanna play FIFA?” They ask, their energy bar already gone.

“I wanna sleep.” John whines, digging himself deeper into the pillow. He hears Laf sigh, like a stressed mother, and then he feels a kick to his thigh.

“Make space, then.” Lafayette orders. He whines again, then shifts to the left so they can lay down. John feels their familiar hands messing with his hair again, and he’s out like a light.

When he wakes up, the room is darker, the orange and violet sky barely visible from where he’s laying. He smacks the right side of the bed to find Laf, who announce their presence with a confused squawk. They smack John’s face as payback, and John groans. The friends lay together, Lafayette playing _‘The Sims 3’_ on their new-bought _Nokia_ while John looks up at the ceiling, spotless white.

“Hey Laf.” John starts, then quietens.

Lafayette waits a beat. “Yeah?”

John gets antsy, he doesn’t really know how to start. The morning incident had irked him all day, as if somebody was poking his head over and over. It was annoying, and he knows that it won’t stop until he lets it out of his chest. John wonders, yet again, how he managed to get so close to Laf. They had only known each other for two years and a half, but if he lost them he would probably have his world cracking. He doesn’t want to lie to them, or keep more secrets than he already has—

_He grabs his shoulder, his hand warm. ‘Shit, people care about you, and if there isn’t anybody right now, well, I care, and many in the future will too,’_

—John rests his forearm on his eyes, finding it better to talk without seeing. “How did you know?” He says, barely above a whisper, but in the closed room is loud enough. “How do you know you’re neither a boy or a girl?” He finally asks. Quiet. The city traffic is background noise, the familiar honks can be heard, too. “You never told me, and is not that I don’t believe it— It’s just...” He trails off awkwardly. “I just wanna understand it, all of it.”

John feels hot from nervousness, but he doesn’t start to doubt himself. Because, it’s _Lafayette_. John could do whatever stupid shit and they would still be there for him, whether he wanted to or not. They’re his best friend, and hopes that it’ll stay like that for a long time.

Lafayette shifts, their elbow digging to his side, but he doesn’t mind. “You know the scar, the one next to my mouth?” They ask in the same hush, a silver of incertitude in their voice. John peeks from his forearm,he can see how the sky paints Lafayette in warm colors, the darkness of the room giving it a dreamy feel.

“Yeah.” John whispers, quiet enough so they were the only one to ever hear him.

Lafayette breathes deeply. “When I was little and lived in _Auvèrnhe_ , a small, dull place. There was this farmer who lived in the outskirts of the town. They didn’t get along with the people, so we thought of them as a myth, more like a monster since the people treated them that way, very harshly,” Lafayette says, their eyes distantly looking at the ceiling. “One day, I was playing on the edge of the nearby bridge— I was _ten!_ Do not look at me like that. Either way, I fell from clumsiness and got taken by the flow of the river.” Lafayette looked at John, humor in their eyes. “Guess who saved me?”

“The farmer?” John says, feeling a bit excited.

Lafayette grins. “ _Oui_ , They grabbed me by my hair and hauled me from the water, I had never been more glad to see that boring sky in my life.” They chuckle, a goofy smile on their face. “They yelled at me too, but brought me to their house, either way. When I thanked them for their hospitality, I was trying to be polite by calling them _‘Mrs.’_ , instead, it made them upset. They wanted me out of the house, it was getting dark, but I didn’t want to leave, my parents wouldn’t be home anyways,” Lafayette pauses. “They were like me, John.”

John feels goosebumps rise through his arms. He fiddles with the skin around his nails, and he waits. Lafayette turns to their drawer, they scavenge inside it until they retrieve a yellowish packet of _Marlboro’s Light._ John scrunches his face in disgust and scoots away.

“Laf, that’s _mad_ gross.” John says, looking with full disgust at the death-sticks. “No one likes a smoker’s breath, also, you got nice teeth now, don’t fuck it up!”

“Shhhh, I’m telling the story, _ma moitié_ , shut up,” Lafayette responds, lighting up the cig with their beat-up zippo lighter. “So, they went by Jean, and I learned many things from them. They were waiting for their lover, the house was hers, and said lover was trying to get out of a marriage, _yes!_ I know, it was very messy,” They take a drag out of the cig, the bitter smell filling the room. “Those summer days I realized how little I knew about the world, and I also realized about my worries. I felt confined, John, I could do some things but not others, and I didn’t get it. I still don’t get it! But then I thought of Jean, they helped me, in a way. When I came here to America, I was so lost. I didn’t get why I felt that way, thus, I looked. I walked and talked and explored until I found people who were just like me, here in New York, and it made me a little braver.” They turn around to John, their knowing eyes watching him. “I know people don’t get it, they’ll probably never will, but you don’t know the joy I felt when you accepted me, John, when you’re there for me.” Lafayette’s smile was radiant.“Thank you.”

The heartfelt conversation ends on that note, and John kinda wants to hug Lafayette. He doesn’t, but Laf does grab his hand, and that’s enough.

* * *

  
And that’s that. After the intimate moment they shared, the yell from Laf’s grand-auntie snaps them out of it. Apparently, a character had just died and she was very torn-up about it. They help her out of the armchair to take her to her bedroom, except she smacks them and tells them she’s gonna cook something, at least that’s what John think she’s saying as she walks to the kitchen. Lafayette sighs to the ceiling in that dramatic way of them, and tells John to help them set up the table.

They enter the rather small kitchen, though that’s quite normal since only two people lived here. Laf’s fat cat is sitting on the top of the fridge and grand-auntie, — _Call me tatie!_ — is stirring some creamy soup on the pot, who knows how she got the soup there so fast. They plate the bowls and John almost drops one when Lafayette makes him trip by throwing him a wet rag. John’s about to throw the rag back to them when _tatie_ yells at Lafayette, points with her finger at the window and throws her wallet to their direction. Laf pulls a face and promptly throws the wallet to John.

“Go buy some croutons, yeah?” They say, heading to the fridge to grab Gator, which it doesn’t appreciate and swats them with its fluffy paw.

“ _What?_ You go!” John retorts. Lafayette looks at him with a sardonic look.

“I helped you with your essay, you owe me,” Laf quips, a grumpy Gator captive in their arms. “Now go! _Shoo!_ ”

John flips them off, discreetly since _tatie_ got eyes on her back, and exits the kitchen with the flowery wallet. The nearest bodega was three blocks away, and the sun was beginning to set. He walks languidly, taking his sweet time. The roads were painted orange by the streetlights, John was entertaining himself by watching the people moving around him. A group of kids talking on the stoops, a lovey-dovey couple walking together hand-by-hand, a sad dude smoking next to a telephone booth. The night was hot and the night-sky bleak, through it wasn’t that bad. The day had started horribly, however now he felt better, happier.

His pants catch into a screw and he trips down to the floor.

He curses out loud, his jeans got jammed with something metallic, the shit stuck on the hem of his pants. He kicks the crap out of it, and the fabric tears off. The source of the screw was a bike, big and rusty and _who the fuck leaves their bike in the middle of the sidewalk?_

“I’ll fucking kill you! You hear me? _Shut the hell up!_ ”

“Ha! I’ll shut up when I’m _dead_ , asshole!”

John turns to the noise coming from a grimy alleyway. There were four people there, three bigger dudes ganging up on a smaller kid, they all wore a pristine white uniform, — _Probably coming from after-school classes?—,_ He didn’t know what to do, should he call the police? His track record on fighting has been clean for some months now, he really shouldn’t—

He makes eye-contact with the boy, he stops dead.

It’s _him._

And just as Alexander’s eyes widen back in realization, they’re struck on the nose.

John’s heart leaps out of his chest, and so does he. His legs move, he’s aware he’s getting closer and closer to the thugs but he can’t _stop_. He kicks the guys who’s got Alexander pinned on his side, the running-start giving him enough momentum so the dude falls down. The two resting guys are left stunned by John’s sudden arrival, he uses it in his favor to clock the nearest one on the jaw. The adrenaline is flowing through him, his right knuckles bruised, he checks behind him, Alex is laying on the floor with a bloody nose and a star-struck face.

John can’t believe it’s _him_ , yet he isn’t be mistaken, the same sharp eyes he’s thought of are looking at him, a spiral of emotions in them. John’s heart is threatening to push out of his ribs, he feels the world go quiet for a second. A mistake, he gets punched.

John falls to the ground with a _thump,_ a pained moan leaves him. He rolls to his side so he isn’t kicked by the others, and tries to retake focus so his head stops spinning. A blurry figure moves in his vision, another falls, there are screams and _where’s the fucking police?_

John’s vision starts to clear up, there’s one dude on the ground and Alexander is kicking the other’s crotch. The big one is starting to get up, but John moves faster, and he doesn’t waste any time on kicking them on the ribs, a distressed cry leaving them. He looks at Alexander, their ragged breaths the only thing he can hear, and the police sirens.

Wait, _what?_

“ _Shit!_ ” Alexander screams, a thin shrill. “We gotta get out! _Get out!”_

Alexander grabs him by the shirt and practically drags him down the alleyway, John stumbles,— _Are those red and blue lights?_ —, his sense of balance is messed up. They arrive to the sidewalk and Alexander grabs the bike quickly, their nose spilling a worrying amount of blood. John needs to run too, but Alexander’s grip is ironlike and he can’t get out of it.

Alexander finally unhands him, and looks at him expectantly. John’s dazed. Alexander’s patience clearly thins. “Get in the fucking bike!” He yells, his face scrunched up.

John gets in clumsily and clings for dear life to Alexander, the sirens getting louder. They ride.

**Author's Note:**

> heyoooo, well isn’t this a fucking ride!! don’t worry y’all, more is coming, slowly, but it’s coming.
> 
> i’m gonna put some fun facts i learned while writing this fic, maybe you’ll learn too:
> 
> —So apparently New York’s (specifically Manhattan) street system makes a lot of sense?? I just learned a shit-ton about avenues and blocks, and I find so interesting how the ‘ghetto’ area is uptown! probably because is closer to Brooklyn, maybe?
> 
> —I learned so much about the non-binary spectrum! Honestly I feel more informed about gender identity and it’s progress throughout the years. Also! I don not identify as non-binary, so if I get something wrong please correct me, I find fun writing about different experiences that I myself have not lived, so upmost accuracy isn’t guaranteed :( Also, also! Lafayette specifically identifies here as agender! If anyone was curious, but they don’t really got a label for it
> 
> —Apparently Historical Lafayette has a town named after him? that’s hella. The town is quite cute! Very towny
> 
> And that is all folks, please leave kudos a comments, comments especially motivate me to push myself to write, so even the shortest thing will make my day! Also, I’m in tumblr as @ggchofi so if you ever wanna hit me up,,, I got you
> 
> Have a lovely day!
> 
> (OH YEAH, I NEED A BETA??? PLS IF ANYONE GOT THE SKILLS THE JOB IS THERE, JUST HMU!)


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